


I'm No Good at Aiming

by notgrungybitchin



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendless Child, Gen, Hurt, Kidnapping, M/M, Missing Scene, OTP: I fucking gave him cover, Pining, Racist/Antisemitic Slurs, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notgrungybitchin/pseuds/notgrungybitchin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped in the midst of a war, Benny can't keep from fighting. And he can't keep his thoughts off Meyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm No Good at Aiming

Benny was shoved into the morning sunlight, somehow brighter, blinding, more obtrusive then it had been when he ventured out earlier. Maybe it was the hovering edge of the knife at his throat or the hard, threatening tug on his ear, pulling him through flashes of pain, dulled by adrenaline and the pounding of his heart. The warm, late spring sun had drawn out the grimy smell of the street, a sticky mix of car exhaust and concrete -- earlier so familiar and comforting as he made his way up the block to Talia’s. Now it made him nauseous, and the sounds of the neighborhood -- kids shouting, mothers yelling across tenement alleyways, and the bustle of the nosey crowd that had begun to form in the wake of the commotion, it all blurred together and made the blood rush and pound in his head. He was dizzy enough that it took relatively little force to shove him into the car that waited, pulled slightly up on the sidewalk.

The man with the knife pushed Benny face down into the seat. “Go!” he bellowed toward the driver, and the car sped forward. Benny felt suffocated -- weight on top of him and his face pressed into the seat of the car. He tried to scream and swear, but his words were muffled by the sound of screeching tires and the seat cushions pressing against his mouth.

“Where’s Sean?” asked a piping, mousey voice from the driver’s seat. Benny turned his head to see a man with a brown bowler hat glancing nonchalantly back at him, a half eaten sandwich held in one hand.

“Dead,” replied the other, adjusting the knife on Benny’s throat and twisting his ear now -- hard.

Benny winced, and then chuckled; remembering the flood of crimson that pooled on the floorboards out of the corner of his eye, spilling from the remains of what must have been Sean. "Got his stupid fucking Mick brains all over the goddamn walls in there, is what happened! It's a fucking beautiful sight I left in there, ain't that right, Juany?"

The driver giggled. A high pitched, whiny sound that did nothing to ease Benny’s pounding head. “Lotta good it’ll do you,” he sneered.

Benny growled and thrashed with his good leg, trying to kick the man who pinned him to the seat. There was no sense in it; there was a knife at his throat, and sharp pain in his right leg that worsened every time he moved. But he had to lash out somehow, if only because he knew that what the man in the driver’s seat said was true, and the realization was beginning to sink in.

_Fuck. He was in a car. They were moving. They had him. He was alive, but that was no consolation. That’s how they wanted him. It was gonna get worse and he was probably gonna be dead by the end of it. They were gonna use him to get at all of them -- to get at Meyer._

There was a sudden, stabbing pain in his leg that shot through his whole body. The man leaning over him had put his weight on it and was pushing it into the seat. 

Benny couldn’t stifle a yelp. _Fuck_. He was usually good at swallowing pain, but he always had the fight to distract him -- the excitement, the chaos would dull it all. But now he couldn’t move, forced to stay motionless and feel _everything_ , and with this bullet he was already in so much pain. They wouldn’t have to work too hard to make it worse.

“Keep your still!” shouted the man.

“Heya Archie,” laughed the driver, “You need some help back there?”

“Find a place to stop,” said Archie, not taking his eyes or his weight off Benny.

Benny knew the streets so well that he felt he could almost count the blocks as the car began to slow every so often, take odd turns, look for a spot. Finally he sensed it turn, and he knew from the sudden change in the light that they’d pulled into an alley.

 “Here good?” asked Archie.

Straining to see the corner of brick wall he could make out from the car window, Benny tried to decipher exactly where they’d stopped. It wasn’t much help. He kept twitching, trying to wriggle free only to feel the knife brush at his throat with every movement. He never forgot it was there, but he couldn’t control himself enough to stay completely still. Not when he was feeling everything at once and he couldn’t fight back.

“Sure. Why the hell not?” replied the man behind the wheel. There was the sound of a door slamming and he was in the backseat, pressing the barrel of a gun to Benny’s head while the other one pinned his hands behind his back, binding them together.

Benny froze and caught his breath. “You’re gonna fuckin' shoot me now? This _mamzer_ seemed pretty set on me being alive.”

The gun moved from his head to his shoulder. “Nothin’ sayin’ you hadda be in one piece. You want me to put another bullet in you?”

 Benny didn’t say anything, but he forced himself to stop moving. It was a tremendous effort, with the pain, and the suffocating pressure pinning him to the seat. The air felt thick and stifling inside the car, like he couldn’t fucking _breath_. But he swallowed, held still, and winced as Archie started to bind his ankles. He felt a pool of warm blood collecting on the seat beneath him as his right leg was moved.

“He’s gonna bleed out before we get to Jersey.” The man with the gun didn’t sound too concerned about the possibility.

“This I know, Mickey!” snapped Archie.

Benny heard him shuffling under the seat, and suddenly Archie's hands were on his injured leg. He grimaced. There was pressure now right on the wound, moving around it, coiling tightly. It made the pain worse, and he didn’t care if it was for his own good.

“Get your -- fucking hands off — ” Benny started, but Mickey whipped his shoulder with the butt of his gun.

“Hey idiot, you wanna die in the back of a car?”

“Better here than Jersey!” he shot back. He wasn’t gonna let them shut him up. Now his shoulder fucking hurt too, but he was sure everything was gonna hurt soon enough. Might as well get it over with and give them hell while he was at it.

And now he knew for sure it was Thompson they were taking him to. That fucker was working with Maranzano now, so maybe this was just him…or the both of them. Either way it was bad, but if it was only Thompson, maybe Meyer and Charlie could survive it. He didn’t want to think about his own odds. He never liked to. That was Meyer’s job.

He didn’t know Thompson too well. He knew he was slowing down, that he’d always been a gladhander, but also that he was more desperate now than ever. He might make compromises and allowances that fucking Maranzano wouldn’t, or he might be a fucking idiot and spill blood that he couldn’t handle cleaning up. Thinking over the possibilities was making the pain in Benny’s head worse, so he settled back into anger.

Archie worked fast. Benny’s leg was bandaged tightly, and he felt the blood pooling inside the gauze now. But it wasn’t spreading, and he felt his dizziness begin to settle…just a little.

Mickey pulled the gun from Benny’s shoulder. He still felt the ache from where it had pressed down to his bone. Mickey slid out of the back seat, returned to his place and started the car up again. Archie shoved Benny onto the floor, where he landed hard on his side. He couldn’t see anything now but the corners of sky and the tops of buildings out the car window, and only if he strained his neck. It didn’t matter. Benny knew they were heading out of the city.

Between the bullet in his leg and the ropes on his hands and feet, he couldn’t move to prop himself up. And now, on the floor, vision obstructed by the seat, and his body shaking from the rumble of wheels on road beneath him, he felt even more trapped. He could see Archie looking comfortable seated above him, examining the knife in his hands.

He couldn’t silence a thousand thoughts at once, but within the panicked jumble he remembered Tonino again. He had seen what was left of him, laid out in the backroom where they had assembled to manage the situation. Benny had arrived late after he got the call. When he heard it was Tonino that got it, he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he felt sick, and he couldn’t shake it. The others hated that schnorrer, and they didn’t hold back on making it known. But Benny always thought Tonino was a pretty swell guy. Only prone to slipping up every so often, only looking out for himself when he had to. 

When Benny finally arrived, Meyer shot him a look, and Benny knew it wasn’t because he was late. Meyer wished he wasn’t there. He was trying to shut him out again, like he was still a kid running errands out of the goddamn Darners & Weavers, pushed out of the room when Charlie and Meyer had to _talk_. Whenever anything big was at stake, he was out. And he’d fought and fought it but it didn’t change until Meyer decided it should. And after that, he was almost always in the room. Meyer never acknowledged the change, or how hard Benny had fought to get there.  But now, after years of proving himself essential, and being treated as if he were, it was like the old days. Charlie was in the room. Of fucking course he was. That old, long buried hatred resurfaced again.

Then he saw what they’d done to Tonino. It’s not like he never saw fucked up shit before. Hell, he could make a fucking mess himself out of something that used to be a person. But this shit, he could tell it was slow and it was careful and Tonino probably told them everything he knew before he went.

Benny stared at the man looming above him -- the one that did it. Archie, the driver had called him. It seemed like too friendly a name for a guy Thompson probably picked up from one of the rougher corners of Havana.

He couldn’t suppress an angry convulsion at the thought of the place. Benny hated Havana even before Tonino. He hated it as soon as Meyer started spending all his goddamn time over there, his presence in New York dwindling, just when he – when _they_ – needed him most.

That shit he pulled with Thompson didn’t help. It was because of Meyer that Thompson knew their game, that Maranzano found out too.

Benny had seen him slipping for a while. He liked to think he was the first to notice, but for a bitter moment he conceded it might have been Charlie. He had noticed before the shit in Boston happened. At least he could say that. There was nothing he could do about it, no amount of blood he could spill, fires he could set, that would keep Meyer from slipping -- slipping farther from himself and farther from Benny. Farther into those nightmare jungles beyond his reach, so separate from the streets and alleys they knew and shared, the jungles that Benny understood.

And now this loopy fucker from that fucking shithole of a city was here, holding that fucking knife. Benny narrowed his eyes at the glinting blade. He couldn’t shake it -- all he could think about was Meyer. They were in a war, and it had moved beyond that fuck up in Havana. Yet here was Thompson's man from Cuba, probably with that same knife he used on Tonino. Meyer would know, and Benny would probably never get to face him, to see him --

Benny couldn’t help it. He tore around on the floor for a moment, to see if he could hit anyone, anything -- to make someone else hurt. Dumb idea. The pain in his leg was even worse now, with the adrenaline waning, and when he moved it was awful. 

“Augh fuck!” He winced and lay still, panting. He hadn’t paused for a moment before the Cuban casually reached out his leg and kicked Benny hard in the chest.

“Don’t do that,” he said calmly, as Benny choked and gasped for air.

“ _Ver derharget!_ ” he spat as soon as he caught his breath.

There was another laugh from the driver’s seat.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Benny yelled.

“You’re wasting your breath. You think he’s gonna understand you?”

“Like I give a shit? You think I fucking care if this fucking Cubano greaseball piece of _shtik drek_ understands a goddamn word out of my mouth? You want your nice, peaceful drive back to Atlantic-fucking-shithole-City, maybe don't drag me the fuck down there with you, huh?! Not like I gotta a hole in my fucking leg or nothin'! Fuckin' shit!"

“What are the odds he’ll still die back there, Archie?” sighed Mickey, “Wouldn’t bother me.”

“He’s good, Mickey. I fix his leg for now.”

“Yeah, that was quick. Was you a doctor…or in the army…or somethin’ over in Havana?” said Mickey.

Archie cocked his head slightly and sighed. “I only know what I need to.”

Benny looked back and forth between the two of them. “What the fuck is this? Minnie’s Yoo Hoo or some shit?”

Mickey shrugged. “Just making conversation. Long drive to Atlantic City.”

“So Thompson must be really fucking desperate huh?” Benny started. “Y’know what it says to me, that he’s gotta kidnap one of us? It says he’s shitting his fuckin' pants. We’re shaking him down and he don’t have anywhere to fuckin' turn. What, he don’t have the balls to kill anyone? Fuckin' _nayfish._ ”

“Who says he ain’t gonna kill ya?” laughed Mickey from the driver’s seat.

“He will. When he done, I kill you for him,” said Archie, and he placed his foot on Benny’s side and rested it there.

Benny tried to shake him off, seized up and winced again. He didn’t care. He didn’t like this Cuban cocksucker treating him like dirt. He shifted himself a little more on his back and spat straight toward Archie’s face. He got some good momentum too. Archie twitched a little and wiped his cheek.

“Thompson’s gonna burn for this. I’ll light him the fuck up myself!” Benny laughed.

Archie took his foot off Benny’s side, but before settling it back on the floor he kicked his injured leg, right where the bullet was. Benny yelped and curled up.

“You make this harder for you,” he said calmly.

Benny swallowed, grimaced and stretched out again. He knew Archie was right. But he couldn’t keep his rage in check. He’d gotten better -- Meyer was all he needed to control it. But lately he found he could sometimes even manage without him. Not now. There was no reason to keep control. It wouldn’t help him, or Meyer, or any of them in the end.

 “ _Ich hob dir in drerd!_ ” he shouted and spat again.

He braced himself for another kick, but this time Archie closed his eyes and leaned back. _Oh so he’s gonna try ignoring me now? See how long he can hold out for?_

“You wanna do something to shut this kike up?” said the voice from the driver’s seat.

Benny growled and tried to turn his body to face the driver now. All he could manage was some more pained thrashing.

“You fucking shit eatin' _feygele_ piece of shit! Fucking say that again!?!? Why don’t you try and shut me the fuck up yourself?  I’ll bite your fuckin' fingers right the fuck off! How the fuck are you gonna yank on your _putz_ then, huh you cocksucker? ”  

Mickey giggled again, and _fuck_ Benny hated that. The high pitched sound pounded into his aching head. He felt like they were piercing holes in him, more to add on top of the wound in his leg, throbbing and stinging all over his body, inside and out.

It wasn’t the first time some bastard had laughed off his threats, but he always made sure they regretted it right away -- or at least for the second before the bullet entered their brains. But now, tied up on the floor of a car, there was nothing he could do. “Oh what, you think this shit is funny you bastard goddamn cocksucker?”

“Yeah,” said Mickey. “Can’t go a whole two hours with no entertainment, ya know? This one’s not much for conversation.” He nodded back at Archie, who kept his eyes closed.

There was a brief lull as Benny caught his breath. Mickey made sure it didn’t last long.

“So I heard about you,” he said, with an air of casual small talk. “‘Bugsy’ or somethin’ like that. Wasn’t sure _how_ crazy we were talkin.’ Happy you lived up to it though. Nothin’ like a good show to pass the time.”

Benny yelled and lurched backward, managing enough momentum to turn onto his other side. Facing the back of the driver’s seat, he kicked as hard as he could, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg. He let out a stream of curses. He couldn’t even keep track of how they fit together, what they’d understand and what they wouldn’t. He didn’t give a fuck. He yelled and he kicked and he felt the car swerve slightly. Then he felt a terrible weight hit him hard on the knee. He grunted and curled up again. When he finally looked up he saw Archie leaning over him, holding a blackjack. He grabbed hold of Benny’s hair and pulled his head back to face him.  

“I hit you again or not? What you think?” he said.

Benny growled and yanked his head back, but Archie had a tight hold. He flipped Benny back to face him and put his foot on the bullet in his leg. Then he glanced up at Mickey. “You think you can watch the driving?”

“Yeah, if you can keep the loon under control.”

Archie put the weight of his heel on the bullet. Benny couldn’t stifle a groan.   

Everything was hurting now, and he felt suffocated on the cramped car floor. Every time he thought of the place they were heading to, and the cowardly fuck who was behind this, the throbbing in his head got worse.

He closed his eyes, and slipped back to the old offices. The Darners & Weavers, with its drafty, peeling walls and creaking stairs. The radio they had now sounded better, but all Benny could hear in his head were the melodies of the old Victrola. He started to hum, softly, without even realizing it.

He thought of Meyer again. He remembered the way he got about Charlie in ’29. The bridled rage, the quiet fear that only Benny recognized, verging on panic, the short temper, the relief. He wondered if Meyer would do the same for him, when he found out what happened. Benny tried to imagine it, but he couldn’t.

He knew that this time it was his own fault. He was sure that’s how Meyer would see it anyway. He should’ve been more careful. Seeing how things were, it was dumb to head to Talia’s without telling anyone.

Archie had shifted some of his weight off Benny’s leg. It was a small relief, and Benny celebrated by adding words to his tune. He closed his eyes and smelled the dust of the old office. He was bounding down the stairs, belting along with the music, basterdizing the words and laughing.

Archie leaned into the leg again. Benny winced but kept singing.

“Hey! Quiet!”          

The blackjack hit his torso now, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped and coughed, straightened out and settled into heaving breaths. Now every vibration of the car beneath him hurt. He lay in silence until he could breathe without wheezing.

He started to sing again.

Mickey sighed from the front seat. “Over an hour to Atlantic City, ya know?”

“I know,” said Archie, taking his foot off Benny for a moment to kick him.

Benny sang louder.

The intermittent blows and threats from Archie and Mickey’s goading didn’t let up. Benny felt them getting to him, threatening to slow him down, and he _hated_ it. And it was that damn bullet, and the dizziness; he could tell that even with the dressings he’d lost a lot of blood.

It was that he couldn’t fight back.                                                                        

But eventually his cursing, his singing -- all of his defiance settled into a steady hum.

His kidnappers settled as well and began to talk. Logistical deliberations that had to do with him, he was sure, but Benny blocked it out. He blocked it all out.

He couldn’t place what he was humming now. But he had the place in his mind. Another dingy office, the roulette table in the back, less music and noise in this one, but the Victrola still playing when Benny could convince Meyer to put it on, and when he felt a need to annoy Charlie. Or often when he was alone.

Whatever it was, it was a slower tune this time, and an old one. But he remembered singing it loudly in the office all the same, Meyer never looking up from the desk as Benny bounded by, kicking along the floor to the rhythm. But he remembered a half smile of fond annoyance break out on Meyer’s face. And even though it was gone in an instant, Benny remembered. And he held that memory for the rest of the ride. The words came back to him, and again he started to sing out loud.  

_“You made me want you_

_And all the time you knew it_

_I guess you always knew it”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics are from "You Made Me Love You", Al Jolson, 1913.
> 
> (I don't speak Yiddish so if the usage is ever incorrect, I apologize.)
> 
> -Ver derharget: Drop dead!
> 
> -Ich hob dir in drerd: Go to hell!


End file.
